


They Say It’s Your Birthday

by oh_so_loverly



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Family Feels, Fluff, toastbabies - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 22:03:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9205139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_so_loverly/pseuds/oh_so_loverly
Summary: Set roughly twenty-five years after the end of Mockingjay, Katniss and Peeta celebrate a birthday, and the winter solstice





	

Soft cloth shifts, the cool air resting above the over-warmth of their cocoon. A repeated ‘ding’ sounds, Peeta’s alarm clock sounding the start of the day. The noise is shut off with a heavy sigh, the warmth of his body pulling away from the bed. A hollow in his absence lingers in the mattress, and leads to a stirring on the other side of the bed. A cool flood of air rushes under the sheets, before he quickly slides the comforter back into place. Creaking wood beneath labored steps, headed away from the bed, the doorknob opens and shuts.

Groggy, Katniss inhales the peaceful morning air, pulling the covers tighter around herself before burying her nose in the pillow. Peeta’s warmth lingers only a short while longer, the hollow where he usually sleeps seeming too large without him here. She can hear him making his way to the stairs, the third step squeaking in protest. Despite years of attempting silence in his step, his path through the home can be heard quite well, even from the second floor. The din of dishes in the room below signals the beginning of Peeta’s day. It’s a special day- not just for Peeta or Katniss, but for another member of their household. Tomorrow will be the winter solstice, once celebrated throughout the country, but mostly ignored from the Dark Days, until recently.

Content under the blankets, Katniss decides she will let herself sleep in.

“I up!” sounds from down the hall, a cherubic little voice gladly proclaiming words which had also been announced (yelled) in the middle of the night. The middle of every night, it seems, since the little girl had learned to speak.

Katniss listens to the pitter-patter of approaching footfalls, the groan of the door as it is pushed opened once again. A thump against the foot of the bed as the fluffy bedding earns a new, if passing, dent.

“Mama, mama!” a high-pitched voice cries. Pudgy hands tap at the covers.

Eyes firmly shut, Katniss tries to resist a smile as Rosie wiggles her way underneath the covers.

“Mama, I up!” another tap, this time at Katniss’s nose.

“Rosie, shh!” a boy’s voice scolds, in an attempted (but unsuccessful) whisper from the doorway.

Rosie clamors across her mother, now heading towards her brother with heavy steps on across the floor.

“I up!” she happily informs Willie.

“But mama’s sleeping.”

“Wake her up!”

"You can’t-”

Rosie begins to wail, pulling away when Willie tries to grab his sister. “Mama! Mama!”

With a deep breath, Katniss’s eyes open, her arms reaching out as she sits up, taking Rosie in her arms.

“See, Rosie, you woke her up,” Willie grumbles.

Rosie scowls in reply, the scowl leaving her face as Katniss tickles her belly and the little girl erupts in giggles.

Early rays of the winter morning’s sun cast a glow into the room, highlighting the palest strands of Rosie’s yellow-blonde hair, currently a wreck in bed-head curls; and showing highlights in Willie’s dark brown hair. The reflective brightness invading through the curtains must be from a nighttime snowfall, promised by the radio weather service. District Twelve is still healing, but it has been nearly twenty-five years by now. In time, there have developed decent services to help predict blizzards that might otherwise catch their citizens off-guard. It also helps that there are actually provisions given out by the relatively new government.

Lifting her daughter with her as she rises from the bed, Katniss resists a cringe of discontent as her back twinges. It’s an old injury, but one that never went treated. She may look into the new Apothecary which popped up in town, to try and alleviate the aches and pains. But Rosie isn’t exactly as little as she used to be, nor is Katniss as young as she once was, either. Rosie throws her arms about Katniss’s neck, planting a sloppy kiss on her mother’s cheek.

“Good morning,” Katniss murmurs, kissing her daughter’s forehead, before going to Willie, gently running a hand through his dark curls. “Hey, buddy.”

“Morning, mama,” Willie replies, shifting his weight.

“You remember what today is?” Katniss asks, as they head down the hall to the staircase.

“Yeah.” Willie glances sideways at his mother. He’s trying to hide his excitement, she realizes.

But you only turn six once.

Fresh pine lines the bannister, cheery and deliciously scented, much to Katniss’s delight, bringing the woods into the home for the season. Mistletoe lingers over the doorway between the stairwell and the sitting room, though that room is currently dark, with the windows and sashes shut for the night. Mistletoe is part of a new trend in Twelve, and Panem in general, but based on a very old custom, from before the Dark Days. The idea is, if caught under the mistletoe with someone else, the couple has to kiss. Peeta thinks it’s sweet. Funnily, Katniss has ended up under the mistletoe with the kids and the cat, more often than she has with Peeta.

Scents of fresh coffee, baking bread, and bacon waft down the hall, luring them towards the brightly lit kitchen. The white-socked yellow cat, jokingly called Ghost by the neighbors (due to the rareness of his appearances when anyone but his family is about), is peeking out from his favorite seating place, hoping for a taste of the scraps. A plush new bed, just in time for the winter, had been a mommy-and-me project between Katniss and Rosie. Granted, Rosie cannot be trusted with needles, and Katniss has never gotten too adept at sewing, but the animal doesn’t seem to mind, especially not since it has been placed just next to the oven. Rosie squeals to be let down, and runs immediately to scoop Ghost up in her arms. The cat, the grandchild of a mutt Katniss’s sister loved so deeply, simply goes limp in the little girl’s arms. Ghost is getting on in years, but never seems to be quite as grumpy towards his family as Buttercup had been.

“Morning, everyone.” Peeta runs a hand through Rosie’s hair, before Katniss gives him a quick kiss in passing. “Hey, birthday boy!”

Lifting his son, Peeta pulls a face before setting the boy down on the counter.

“Oof, when did you get so big?”

Willie shrugs, eyeing the back window. His face lights up. “Mama, look!”

White flakes are beginning to drift lazily through the air, the pathway shoveled from the backdoor to the woodshed already beginning to be covered. Fabric on the hats and scarves of half-hobbled snowmen out in the yard is already sprinkled with a light dusting.

“Can we go outside?!” Willie looks excitedly to his mother.

She is about to say no, not until after breakfast, not until the snow has died down. Peeta speaks first, ruffling Willie’s hair.

“Go on,” Peeta encourages. “Breakfast will be done in… ten minutes?”

“Fifteen?” Willie negotiates, blue-grey eyes flickering as the wheels in his brain turn.

“Ten,” Katniss says, sharply. “As soon as you put on your galoshes and snowpants.”

Immediately, Willie runs to retrieve his clothes from the back mudroom.

Willie had been the one who wanted to make snowmen for each of them, one each for Peeta, Katniss, Rosie, and himself. They had attempted a Ghost-snowcat, but the cat had run and hidden himself away too well for them to track him down, much to Willie’s dismay.

But building snowmen isn’t half as fun as catching snowflakes on your tongue. Part of the fun, for Willie, is getting messy and rolling around in the snowbanks.

“Rosie, are you going with them?” Peeta asks, scooping the little girl up as Ghost skitters back to his own bed.

“No!” Rosie cries back, looking perturbed by the suggestion. “Noggy, dad?”

“Eggnog?”

“Yeah!”

“Please?” Katniss interjects, raising a brow.

“Noggy, pease?”

“Okay.” Peeta tweaks Rosie’s nose, earning a haughty scoff before heading to the icebox. Just next to the nog (dry, despite Haymitch’s several suggestions), is a white package tied in a red-and-white bakery ribbon. Willie had asked about it once, even tried a peek, to the point he’s now banned (until later today, that is) from going into the box. “Katniss, I’ll stay in here, you go with him.”

Katniss nods, but not before noticing stockings hanging from the mantle in the living room. The fire is glowing and warm, and must have been stoked as soon as Peeta came down here. “Peeta, what are those?”

Peeta gives an easy smile. “Oh, they’re just drying off from yesterday.”

“Why aren’t they in pairs, then?”

They might be singular, white socks, hung by laundry pins to a line which is, in turn, tacked to the brick mantle. Only each one has a different name painted on the cuffs with glittery-golden script. Katniss narrows her eyes in suspicion.

“Katniss…” Peeta warns.

She slowly makes her way to the stockings, before pulling one off the line with her name on it. Reaching in, her hand touches a foreign texture, rough but not coarse, and soft enough to press without cracking a nail. Pulling the round object up, she retrieves a bright orange fruit, bringing to her nose and inhaling the scent of citrus. An orange. Peeta took socks and put oranges in them. Nowadays, it might not be much to her own children, but times were that neither of them would have seen an orange on a regular basis.

_Look at how far we’ve come._

“Mama!” Willie calls out from the doorway. “Mama that’s-”

“There’s something else,” Peeta motions at her stocking. Willie pouts, but Peeta shakes his head at his son. “It’s okay, Will, mom can have a present too, can’t she?”

Willie grumbles, but nods. Katniss is still staring in confusion at her husband.

“It was supposed to be for tomorrow morning, but…”

Frowning, Katniss reaches in again, feeling a small chain, with something larger at the end. The memory of the locket, of Peeta’s token, with the pictures held within its grasp, tugs at her, and Katniss has to gulp heavily before she can see the new, silver locket properly.

_“To mommy, love Willie and Rosie.”_

Inside the locket, there are two miniature paintings. The scale is so small, Katniss immediately looks at Peeta in surprise. Her husband smiles, walking to her and planting a kiss on her cheek. Feeling herself about to do something silly, like cry, she looks back at the locket. One the inside left, is a painting of Willie holding Rosie as a baby; on the right, is a newer painting, an older Willie with an older Rosie sitting on his lap.

“D’you like it, mama?” Willie edges closer, bundled up in a thick jacket, wearing one of Peeta’s old caps that’s nearly ten sizes too big for him.

Katniss slides the orange back into the stocking, pinning the stocking back to the line, and clutching the locket tightly in her hand.

“Katniss?” Peeta murmurs, placing a hand on her lower back.

“I love it,” Katniss kneels down, wrapping her arms around her son. “I’m sorry for ruining the surprise, Willie.”

“It’s okay, mama,” Willie shifts, suddenly shy. He can be as uncomfortable with hugs as Katniss.

Peeta helps her to clasp the locket on her neck, hands lingering on her shoulders. It’s only a short reprieve, before Willie is pushing for his mother to hurry up, so they can play in the snow.

When they return for breakfast (in fifteen minutes, instead of ten), the radio plays an ancient song that’s been recently rediscovered.

_“They say it’s your birthday_

_It’s my birthday too, yeah_

_They say it’s your birthday_

_We’re gonna have a good time_

_I’m glad it’s your birthday_

_Happy birthday to you.”_

As they eat their oranges (though they were intended for tomorrow, the morning of the winter solstice), Willie turns to his mother, with a silly, self-pleased grin on his face.

“Happy my birthday.”

Katniss smiles. “Happy your birthday, Willie.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading. fluff is generally not my thing, but... Everlark toastbabies deserve good things <3 
> 
> [I'm sorry I haven't updated other Things lately, hopefully I will be back on my feet and jumping back in the game sooner rather than later.]


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